I quit Greys in 2015. Yes, it was after Shonda killed Mc Dreamy.
I tried to continue, I tried to see what she would make of his memory, but after she moved forward a year in one episode and then tried to start the next season with a chirpy Meredith, a secret love child and sisters-doing-it-for-themselves I couldn't hack it. So I quit Greys.
So when I found myself watching the first episode of season 13, two days ago, I wasn't worried about delving back into the messy mire of Shonda's mind, I was just trying to see what she'd done with the rest of the characters I'd grown to love over the past eleven years.
Eleven. Years.
I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.
Episode one was alright. I had no emotion toward the characters and the storyline was so obviously emotionally manipulative and so I figured, hey, let's see if last season would validate this season premiere.
I should have known I couldn't be that detached.
I started from episode 13 and watched my way through Shonda's TGIT writers' - many who were probably tweens when the show started (sorry, unnecessary hate, I apologise) - attempt at rescuscitating past emotions they are not worthy to touch, and mingling those hallowed memories with their cruel and manipulative plot twists. I mean, Karev hasn't been violent for so long but now you're going to make it look like a tragic flaw that's taking him down?
So, score. Miz Rhimes has clearly not lost her touch and has sufficiently infected her writers with it and so even though I should be detached enough to recognise that this is just Final Destination: Greys Anatomy Edition - aka business as usual - I am here, writing a blog post about why Greys makes me so mad without talking about why I'm actually mad but screaming passive-aggressively all over the page.
And this is why Greys still has an audience. We're in year thirteen and I'm still upset that it is now socially more popular to leave the incredibly insensitive character who is Arizona with a baby she only accidentally decided she wanted, leaving her birth mother to beg her for rights to see her, etc, etc.
But none of this is why the show makes me so mad, and now that I've built it up so much I feel like the rest of this will quickly devolve into (even more of) an emotional rant because the show creators have figured out a way to do exactly what they set out to do: control the audeience's emotions and keep them watching.
So I'll leave off talking about the really annoying way sex is portrayed as a tool to buy love, to prove love, to empower, to let off steam, for recreation and for procreation - all at the same time.
And the way every single character acts exactly the same, at the whim of the plot. And the way no one waits for an explanation ever, because they live in a world where being an adult means throwing tantrums and making decisions with as little information as possible. (No adult would survive in a world of retorts and conclusion-jumping exercises. I would know, I've been an adult for around ten of these almost-thirteen years, and the only thing stomping off in a huff ever got me was misinformation. Which, I guess, is the predominant tool of the creation of these storylines, whithouth which they wouldn't be able to create love (with sex) kill it (with sex), prove it's over (with sex) introduce new love (with sex) and kill that one with sex and anger and misinformation... and repeat the cycle over again.)
Not coherent but feels so good to not edit a piece of writing and send it flying willy-nilly into the internets.
Until we meet again, don't watch Greys.
I tried to continue, I tried to see what she would make of his memory, but after she moved forward a year in one episode and then tried to start the next season with a chirpy Meredith, a secret love child and sisters-doing-it-for-themselves I couldn't hack it. So I quit Greys.
So when I found myself watching the first episode of season 13, two days ago, I wasn't worried about delving back into the messy mire of Shonda's mind, I was just trying to see what she'd done with the rest of the characters I'd grown to love over the past eleven years.
Eleven. Years.
I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.
Episode one was alright. I had no emotion toward the characters and the storyline was so obviously emotionally manipulative and so I figured, hey, let's see if last season would validate this season premiere.
I should have known I couldn't be that detached.
I started from episode 13 and watched my way through Shonda's TGIT writers' - many who were probably tweens when the show started (sorry, unnecessary hate, I apologise) - attempt at rescuscitating past emotions they are not worthy to touch, and mingling those hallowed memories with their cruel and manipulative plot twists. I mean, Karev hasn't been violent for so long but now you're going to make it look like a tragic flaw that's taking him down?
So, score. Miz Rhimes has clearly not lost her touch and has sufficiently infected her writers with it and so even though I should be detached enough to recognise that this is just Final Destination: Greys Anatomy Edition - aka business as usual - I am here, writing a blog post about why Greys makes me so mad without talking about why I'm actually mad but screaming passive-aggressively all over the page.
And this is why Greys still has an audience. We're in year thirteen and I'm still upset that it is now socially more popular to leave the incredibly insensitive character who is Arizona with a baby she only accidentally decided she wanted, leaving her birth mother to beg her for rights to see her, etc, etc.
But none of this is why the show makes me so mad, and now that I've built it up so much I feel like the rest of this will quickly devolve into (even more of) an emotional rant because the show creators have figured out a way to do exactly what they set out to do: control the audeience's emotions and keep them watching.
So I'll leave off talking about the really annoying way sex is portrayed as a tool to buy love, to prove love, to empower, to let off steam, for recreation and for procreation - all at the same time.
And the way every single character acts exactly the same, at the whim of the plot. And the way no one waits for an explanation ever, because they live in a world where being an adult means throwing tantrums and making decisions with as little information as possible. (No adult would survive in a world of retorts and conclusion-jumping exercises. I would know, I've been an adult for around ten of these almost-thirteen years, and the only thing stomping off in a huff ever got me was misinformation. Which, I guess, is the predominant tool of the creation of these storylines, whithouth which they wouldn't be able to create love (with sex) kill it (with sex), prove it's over (with sex) introduce new love (with sex) and kill that one with sex and anger and misinformation... and repeat the cycle over again.)
Not coherent but feels so good to not edit a piece of writing and send it flying willy-nilly into the internets.
Until we meet again, don't watch Greys.
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